I bid farewell to the Twin Cities fairly early in the morning.

The next day’s plan was to travel from the banks of the Mississippi River in St. Paul to the Missouri in South Dakota, traversing terrain between two of America’s most important rivers.

In a few ways, it would be a jumping off point for me for the rest of the trip. After this, I had no plans to stay with friends, and in fact, virtually no plans to sleep anywhere other than my tent.

But, I did still get to bump into an old pal, if you know what I mean…

By the time I reached St. Paul, I had driven quite a ways. Probably over 24 hrs of solo driving (spread across several days), and I had added about 1,500 mi to my odometer, through stops, detours, and unavoidable hours on the interstate.

This experience gives me the ability to say the following: Of everywhere I have driven in my life, by far, the friendliest and most courteous drivers were those in Saint Paul, Minnesota. A much needed respite after… other cities.

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My milkshake was unfinished.

The lumps wouldn’t make it up my straw.

Night had long since fallen by the time I made it to the Highland Ridge Campground.

I picked the spot (near the Eau Galle Lake in Wisconsin) because it had some nearby hiking trails, a lake, and it seemed good for birding. And, it had a few nice, tent-specific campsites. And, of course, it was well-situated for my next and final urban friend visit.

I accidentally circled the campground road twice, struggling to make out the signage specifically for the tent sites which were genuinely hard to see from the road, but easily making out the signs for each irrelevant (to me) car site.

After visiting the Indiana Dunes, my next stops were Milwaukee and Chicago. In that order.

Nonsense? Yes.

Regrettable? No.

From the famous dunes of Indiana, I drove direct to Milwaukee, where I would eat, drink, be merry, and hear some killer live music…